Women and Fine Wine
by vrangr
Summary: It was just one glass of wine. This was a fine dining restaurant, and one of the largest, most luxurious in all of Central, hardly the place to drink unnecessary amounts of alcohol in a well-pressed suit.


**Disclaimer: **Fullmetal Alchemist (and that includes Colonel Roy Mustang and _his_ First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye) belongs to Hiromu Arakawa :3

**A/N1:** I should've been studying for my chemistry lecture tomorrow but teyhey this happened instead. I regret nothing 3 now that this is off my chest, I will study now.

**A/N2: **This fic is almost 5 days old D: university life, you _are_ cruel sometimes. FINALLY POSTING! Thanks again to the best beta in the world, _**The Knife**_, for looking this over for me and combing it for any errors and unwanted OOCness! :3

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His drinking tonight is not to get him into a drunken stupor. His drinking tonight is not to get him numb because of unnecessary 'brooding'. His drinking tonight is not because he's out on one of those womanizing escapades—women loved men who knew how to drink in a refined manner, and Roy Mustang couldn't deny that he liked women. As easily as he could snap his fingers and transform a practically invisible spark into a damn forest-fire, he could walk into any room given the necessary 'assets' and make the most seemingly disinterested woman croon over him within minutes.

One glass of wine.

_She_ wouldn't approve of any more, not that he was doing this _for_ her.

This was a fine dining restaurant, and one of the largest, most luxurious in all of Central, hardly the place to drink unnecessary amounts of alcohol in a well-pressed suit.

One sip.

And those dark eyes took a sidelong glance at a woman who seated herself an arm's length away from him at the counter. Champagne gown with a daring low neckline, diamonds in her auburn hair, pearls around her wrist and neck, lips as red as…fine wine.

One smile.

She responded by winking at him, and raised her eyebrows. Mustang smirked and returned his attention to his drink, taking another sip. "Not alone, are you?"

"I'm with a friend."

"Don't see him around."

One silent bout of sensual feminine laughter.

"I never said that I was with a man."

"You're in a place like this, looking like that," Mustang replied quietly, amusedly. "You can't 'not be' with a man."

"You seem to know much," she replied, inching closer. "So do I," she whispered.

One shudder at the pleasurable chill down his spine.

"You're a nice girl."

"And you're a nice boy."

"Best keep it that way, then, huh?"

One nod.

The bartender served the cocktail, and she picked it up with graceful ease. "Not in this life, then," she said with a sigh and walked away.

Mustang didn't even bother to watch her leave.

One whiff of _that_ perfume.

"Clear, sir."

Another woman seated herself beside him at the counter. Mustang dared take his blessed time staring at her. Modest midnight blue was hugging her body in all the right places, golden hair curled to one side, rendering him a good view of her long slender neck, practically no jewelry, just a thin silver watch on her wrist, lips pale but glossed. This woman, he can not, should not, must not touch, although she had no lover, no fiancé, no husband.

She _was_ already committed, but she belonged to no one.

One sigh.

_She's beautiful._

No shame.

_I'd have her if I could._

No malice.

_I just want her._

No lust.

He respects. He respects her for who she is, what she's done, all she's given; respects her because she endures, withstands, tolerates, makes do.

He cannot deny her anything, not even the kind of attention he is supposed to resist giving her.

"Wine?"

She smiles, brow furrowed.

"I saved it for you."

"Or finished the first glass."

He smirked. "That's for me to know."

"I supposed this wouldn't be a good time to attempt insubordination."

She took his glass, elegantly, and brought it to her lips. When she returns it, a mark is left at the brim.

"Fine wine," she says. She sounds rather bored.

Mustang doesn't bother being indiscreet, and takes another sip off the glass, his lips not missing her mark on the brim. The lipstick is sweet.

Or it could still be the wine.

"Shall I take you home?"

"I'd appreciate it."

She follows closely behind as they make their way through the restaurant.

Two coats.

One for her, one for him, of the same design. He holds her coat by the shoulders and watches her slide into it with ease before pulling it tightly around herself.

She looks no less beautiful in military uniform.

_I just want her._

When they get to his car, he holds the door open for her and she climbs in with one fluid motion, purposefully ignoring his hand. He tries not to laugh. She never liked being helped with anything unless she already had her hands full, which happened rarely enough.

One stoic look.

"Yes?"

Mustang shrugs and leans against the side of the doorframe nearest her. "Why don't you wear lipstick like that to work?"

"It's against military policy, Colonel."

Mustang closed his eyes and smiled boyishly. "But I like it on you."

"Bold," she replied. "But I'll take it as a compliment."

His eyes dart to his sides and he steals a glance over his shoulder.

They're alone.

"Would you consider this a working environment?"

"We came here on a mission, sir. So, yes."

"Ah, but we've accomplished it already." He runs a pale hand through his hair and uses the same against the doorframe over his head as he leans inside. "So I'll ask you again."

"You don't have to," she replied, lips fixed in a smooth relaxed line, amber eyes glinting against the faint source of light coming from the restaurant around a hundred meters away. "Does the environment matter, sir? I always thought 'Mustang gets what Mustang wants."

_I just want her._

He smirked and looked her in the eye, "Now that just makes me sound like a jerk."

"You're _my_ jerk."

He's taken aback, but it makes him grin and he moves in closer. _"Your_ jerk, huh? Thought you said this was a bad time for insubordination?"

"It is," she sighs. "Aren't you going to do something about it, sir?"

One kiss.

And he tastes her. And she's sweet. Sweet like her lipstick. Sweet like fine wine. And she's gentle against him, and he's even gentler on her. He dares linger.

_I just want more._

And he feels her hands take a firm grip on the collar of his coat and pull him closer.

And she feels his one hand finding its way smoothly to that customary slit up her skirt.

She's breathless. He can tell. But as soon as he gives her room, she pulls him right back.

_Dangerous._

But he just wants more.

And he cannot deny her anything, not even this kind of attention he is supposed to resist giving her.

He can't resist her. Can't get enough…of her.

He lets her take what she wants. Even if he knows it'll never suffice for either of them.

He's breathless. She can tell. But she's not done yet.

Just.

A little.

Longer…

He's sweating when it's over, and her own cheeks are flushed like the pink spring roses outside the gates of HQ.

One last nip.

And it's his fault, of course.

He can't resist her.

_I just want more._

"Lieutenant Hawkeye," he says, his voice low and hoarse but just above a whisper, "you're permitted insubordination of this sort whenever you please."

She laughs darkly, still in the midst of catching her breath. "And you're drunk."

He grins.

After what just happened…

_Surely_ she doesn't mind that he actually did have more than one glass of sweet fine wine?

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**A/N:** D: what was that? Please review :3 I would love to hear (constructive) criticism, or even just your thoughts about this!


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